


Might Stop By

by venilia



Category: Teen Wolf (TV), The Sandman
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Depression, F/M, M/M, Past Abuse, Pre-Slash, Weird Sex Dream of Freakishness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-12
Updated: 2012-08-12
Packaged: 2017-11-11 23:27:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/484072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/venilia/pseuds/venilia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p> One night on a stakeout — what is his life that he has werewolf stakeouts? — Stiles makes a run for cheap diner coffee. He doesn't like coffee unless it's frothy and sweet, but Isaac says shitty late-night coffee is a Lahey tradition. He's smiling a little when he says it, so yeah, coffee. Stiles will totally get him shitty late-night coffee.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Might Stop By

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in the middle of season 2, so it doesn't take the last few episodes into account.  
> (It's not really jossed either so yay me!)  
> This is in that hand-wavey future-time when the Pack is a Pack again, including Scott and Stiles.  
> (EVERYTHING IS PUPPIES AND NO ONE IS HURT.) 
> 
> Originally posted on my tumblr (surviveablyso.tumblr.com), but I've fiddled with it.

1\. Stiles and Delirium (and Dream)

One night on a stakeout — what is his life that he has werewolf stakeouts? — Stiles makes a run for cheap diner coffee. He doesn't like coffee unless it's frothy and sweet, but Isaac says shitty late-night coffee is a Lahey tradition. He's smiling a little when he says it, so yeah, coffee. Stiles will totally get him shitty late-night coffee. 

On the curb outside Dinah's is a punk girl in torn fishnets and an Alice in Wonderland shirt sitting there with a large dog. Her hair is cotton candy pink and lemon yellow, and she's blowing huge, huge bubbles with her gum. Stiles asks if she needs a meal, his treat, and instead she gets him talking about how nuts his life is, how everyone is broken: Isaac clinging so hard to the few good memories he has of his fuck-up dad and dead brother, Erica still has a chip on her shoulder and a need to prove how desirable she is, Scott... is Scott, Jackson never believes that he's enough, Allison's dead mom and psycho family, Lydia being used as a puppet for Peter freaking Hale (who is alive. Why, even, did they not cut his head off and bury it at a crossroads with wild roses in his mouth, like the legends said? Why the hell did Stiles leave Derek alone to bury his evil uncle?), Boyd so lonely and sad that he chose to _become a werewolf_ so that he could fit in somewhere, and Derek. Stiles has been worrying about Derek since he met the guy. Losing his entire family is too huge a tragedy for Stiles to imagine. 

In his hindbrain, in the place where he's very _aware_ that most of the people he hangs out with, including his best friend, could tear the skin off his arm like a kid tearing into Christmas presents, Stiles knows that this girl is... not a girl. Not just a girl. He's saying things he doesn't mean to say, but he can't seem to help it, and the bubbles are in shapes -- Tortoro, the moon, a blowfish, a heart with a Cupid arrow through it -- while the not-really-a-girl's hair (was it yellow and orange before? Stiles can't remember) swirls in a faint breeze. The breeze doesn't touch Stiles, the summer humidity cling maddeningly to his skin like a wet leather coat. 

It's like a fever dream. He knows he's talking to a runaway girl about the benefits of therapy at the same time he _knows_ he's talking to an ancient, primal thing about werewolves, kanimas, and the wet dream he had where he was on the lacross field with everyone watching and Lydia held him down for Scott to take, to fuck, but instead Derek came and took his ankles and kissed his shoulders and put a haddock in him and it was so good that Stiles still avoids seafood. (He blames it on falling asleep in front of the television while Iron Chef marathoned.) 

"Hey, hey, hey, hey," she says. She keeps saying 'hey' until Stiles touches her knee to make her stop. She stares at him. "Hamza," she says. No one calls Stiles that, but he can't remember why for a moment. "You don't taste like chicken, and I can't eat you because you're not one of mine. But your life tastes delicious, like cranberries and tequila and ash." 

Stiles doesn’t know that that means but he’s kind of relieved all the same.

"Hey. So..." her face twists like she can't remember what she's saying. She's gotta be a drug addict. 

"But how come planets don't twinkle?" she asks, as if continuing a conversation she must have had with somebody else.

Stiles buys her a hot cup of tea, with cinnamon in it. He pets the dog while she sips it. The dog pants in that happy, doggy way that looks like a grin. He's an awesome dog. 

 

Dream sits at Stiles’ bedside a few nights later in his cool, moon-colored robes and smiles. He like this kid, this waking-dreamer, one of those that has the will and the practicality to see things come true. All the boy's dreams are about family and friends. This one is loyal. 

 

2\. Lydia and Delirium

Del swings her legs as she watches Lydia. She's sitting on Lydia's windowsill, knitting something that smells like dead leaves on the forest floor and fresh white paint. It might be a hat for Lydia's flaming, tangerine hair. This one is hers. Del hums lullabies and nursery rhymes. _Twinkle twinkle little star, twinkle twinkle where you are, up above the nighttimes high... la la la la la la laaaaaa! And the man jumped over the moon._

Lydia stares into her vanity mirror, stares and stares and stares, as if she’s watching something horrifying. 

Del waves, even though the girl's not watching her in that mirror. Lydia Martin has so much potential. 

 

3\. Kate and Desire; Erica and Desire; Desire and Scott

Desire visits Kate and Erica for different reasons. 

Kate may be one of its favorites. _Oh_ , how that woman _wants_. She wants like flames, and like chains, and like the aching call of a lone wolf. Desire is fond of her. It likes her bare face and her thick hair, and the silver knife strapped to her smooth, hairless, warrior's thigh. Her want drives her straight to her death, but that's the way the best wanting goes. 

 

Erica is minor league, really, but Desire watches the girl appreciate the effect her body has on others. It watches her slim her hands down her sides, plump up her breasts in her bra and smile, large and in charge. This is a girl who recognizes that Desire can make fools with only curls, bone structure, and a smokey eye. This is a girl who is not afraid to declare that she wants. For now she’s like a little girl playing dress-up. But someday she’ll be as confidant as she pretends to be, and she’ll still have that pure, childlike way of wanting with all her heart. 

Desire always likes the wise ones. When they age, they’re like fine wine.

 

Desire stops by a few of Scott’s lacross games, but the boy’s not interesting. The two desires in him — for Allison, and for winning the game — are both tempered by Stiles, and by his growing love for his pack. How dull. Underneath his hormones and ever-present confusion Scott is a real sweetheart. Sweethearts are never much fun for Desire. 

 

4\. Jackson and Destruction

Jackson hears his master’s call. There's a picture in his mind suddenly of a pretty girl, maybe 20 years old, and the perfect understanding that _she needs to be destroyed_. Jackson never remembers about his Kanima form until his skin starts rippling into scales and Jackson feels how powerful he is, feels the strength rush into his limbs. His bedroom window is open on the cool summer night breeze, and the Kanima likes the feel of the air sliding over his scales, but-.  


There's a man outside whistling. What was he doing? Jackson stands for a moment in his boxer-briefs, feeling silly. The man outside is still whistling an annoyingly jaunty little tune. 

For some reason Jackson goes to the window — to shut it. He’ll call the cops; loitering is against the law. Outside is this big guy with red hair and a hobo pack over his shoulder. 

"Hey, you!" Jackson hisses. The man turns, motioning to his chest. 

_Me?_

"Yes you, you bum! What are you doing here?" 

"Waiting for my little sister," bum says, like it wasn't _obviously_ a rhetorical question. "What are you doing up? Looks like you were sleeping.

"I-." Jackson's not ashamed of his body. The bum should consider it a privilege to look.

The bum raises an eyebrow, as if to say, _Yes?_

"Well-" Why is this bum talking to him? Jackson doesn't want to talk to him. "Well get out of here before I call 9-1-1. My dad's a lawyer, you know. He'll prosecute you." 

The bum _laughs_. Jackson... Jackson has no idea what he's doing, but it's such an honest, happy laugh that Jackson is smiling back, smiling like he only does with Danny when they're drinking beers under the stars, like when Lydia is -- was -- leaning back against his shoulder, lecturing him on particle freaking physics or something and Jackson can lean forward secretly and sniff her perfume right behind her left ear, where there's a secret freckle that only Jackson knows about. 

The bum keeps talking to him. He talks to Jackson about responsibility, and about inner-peace, all guidance-counselor-y, but weirdly enough, Jackson finds himself listening. 

He doesn’t accomplish his mission that night, and his master never knows why that is. That weekend Jackson applies to three colleges. It's like suddenly his brain has remembered hope. 

 

5\. Derek and Death (and Dream)

Derek is in a fever from a Hunter’s bullet when Death visits him. He's sweating in his back seat, staining the blanket he laid out with the stench of sickness. His pack is safe, so it's worth it. They don't need to know that he's sick, don't need to worry about their leader. Derek can handle a little fever. 

Death is beautiful. Not conventionally, but Derek's never really gone for conventional beauty. He likes broad, open faces, and the little beauties that make someone interesting, like prominent collarbones or pretty eyes. 

Death's eyes are a deep, clear gray. Derek's a little bit in love. 

They talk for a long, long time while he sweats out the wolfsbane. Sometimes they talk about love, pack, loyalty, important things. They talk about how guilty Derek feels for his family’s death, and about Uncle Peter. They talk about betrayal and Kate Argent. They also talk about Skittles versus Starbursts, and how they’re both looking forward to the new Marvel movie, and which Ray’s is the best in New York. Oddly enough, it’s a lot like talking to Stiles. 

She's wonderful. 

At some point a man joins them. He's still a boy, really, even though he's one of the oldest things Derek has ever met. His eyes are dark like a moonless night.

"Brother," Death greets him with a hug. 

"Hello," Dream answers. "Derek will wake up soon."

"It's been a wonderful chat, thank you," Death says. "What were you doing in the neighborhood anyway?"

Dream laughs. "Visiting someone important to this one," he says, nodding his head in Derek's direction. He turns to Derek suddenly, and if Death is lovely, then Dream is unimaginably beautiful. Not Derek's type, but still gorgeous. He doesn't have a scent, which makes it hard to believe he's real even though Derek knows exactly who and what he is. But then, Derek's never been a dreamer. 

"You have a powerful one in your pack, Derek," Dream says. "Keep that one close. He's one of mine." His eyes aren't completely black. Somewhere deep in each eye is a bright white star, like a silver fish at the bottom of a pond.

All Derek come up with is, "What?" and Death laughs at him. He doesn't mind. She has a great laugh. 

He wakes up.

Derek doesn’t get any big answers, but when the fever breaks he feels a lot better. Stronger. He remembers the gist of his dream. He likes to think that Death met his family personally — especially his mom, and the youngest pups. Derek could trust her with them. He hasn't trusted in a long time, but. Well, who knows. It was just a dream, even if he knows better than to ignore dreams.

The next night his pack gathers around a dozen pizzas, inhaling them like they've never seen food before. Derek snatches a piece of pepperoni from Boyd's plate, and settles back in his chair. He can smell them all - Boyd on his left, making a face at the food theft, Scott on his right smelling of Allison and her favorite lotion, Stiles next to him, laughing with his mouth full, happy and easy with a pack of werewolves, Isaac ducking his head as he grins, proud that his remark got a laugh, Lydia, a little apart from the rest of the pack, still not sure of her welcome but smiling, Erica's long hair pushing the scent of her styling product his way as she throws back her head against Boyd's shoulder, giggling. It feels right.

He might be healing. 

 

6\. Isaac and Despair; Despair and Jackson; Despair and Derek

Despair sits with Isaac some nights, when he's still human. Poor, broken boy. Unloved, unseen. 

Sometimes she sits with Jackson. 

Despair never says much, but when Derek walks into their lives she nods and calls her rats back into her Realm. Derek used to be hers, too. She likes it when her old charges look after the younger ones.

 

7\. The Argents and Destiny; Boyd and Destiny

In a certain section of Destiny's Tome there is a chapter on the family Argent. It chronicles the first Argent, (Elise, who lost her beloved husband to a maddened Omega, raising her sons to hunt the beasts down, her daughters to learn and plot), to the last Argent, (Allison, who marries her own beloved werewolf, raising her only daughter, a human, in a werewolf pack). 

 

Destiny follows Boyd in his Book, the pages rustling back and forward, sounding like bird wings and running feet. This boy will be interesting.


End file.
